“In religious matters, yes,” he answered. “And the reason is, that after I had been trained in methods of scientific thought, dogmatic thought became impossible. All the theology I know anything about is founded on arbitrary dogma.”
“To an outsider,” I said slowly, “science seems at times dogmatic. Are not its sceptical conclusions out of proportion to its actual achievement? You scientists deny beyond your power to prove. Kingsley convicted you once for all in the argument about the water-babies, and he did it by your own methods. You have ‘no right to say that God does not exist until you have seen him not-existing.’”
But the Lad thought I was trifling.
“You are mistaken,” he maintained. “Genuine science neither asserts nor denies where it cannot prove. It is silent about the ideas of God and of immortality, because it cannot find any basis for scientific reasoning. It is magnificent,—that reverence that keeps it from making great unprovable statements about things in general. Oh, think of the patience with which scientists study the least things, and the self-control that keeps them from drawing conclusions before they have reached them, and the splendid faith with which they go on working!”
The Lad’s eyes glowed with enthusiasm.
“Of course, my present position is not final,” he added. “I expect to go on. I have tremendous faith in doubt.”
“You are creative even in your doubting,” I reflected.
“Of course,” said the Lad. “Otherwise there would not be the least use in doubting.”
I told him that I had never known disbelief so eager and enthusiastic. Agnosticism, as I had watched it, had weakened the whole moral fibre. With Janet, for instance, loss of faith in God had meant loss of faith in herself and in everything else.
“I can’t understand that,” said the Lad. “The feeling that the old ground is slipping from under me makes me want to gird up my loins and start to find new.